


Bathroom Blues (and Tiffany too)

by sammyspreadyourwings



Series: 2019 DL Stocking Stuffers [11]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arguing, Attempt at Humor, Cats, Concussions, Fluff and Humor, Hospitals, Human disaster Roger Taylor, Hurt Roger Taylor (Queen), Idiots in Love, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:08:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22294564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammyspreadyourwings/pseuds/sammyspreadyourwings
Summary: Roger and Freddie get into a fight. Roger tries to calm down by hiding in a bathroom and accidentally locks himself in.
Relationships: Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor, John Deacon/Jim Hutton/Brian May/Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor
Series: 2019 DL Stocking Stuffers [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1583506
Comments: 4
Kudos: 87





	Bathroom Blues (and Tiffany too)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RDcantRead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RDcantRead/gifts).



> This is a lot different than what I usually write, because humor isn't usually where I go to, but I tried to make the situation amusing at least?   
> I hope you like it, RD!

Tiffany stared blankly at the handle in his hand. Roger scowled at the cat, as though she is the one at fault. Who knows, maybe she planned this so she could have the sink to herself. Weird cat, who likes drinking out of the faucet. Roger huffs, Oscar likes sleeping in the downstairs sink, now that he thinks about it.

“I thought cats hated water,” he sighs.

Tiffany flicks her tail.

“Thank you, for the help.”

Roger slides down the wall and stares at the knob. It’s a lovely knob really, heavy brass with tiny waves etched around it. Half of the screw remains in it, and he doubts that even with the proper tools it’s fixable.

“What are the chances you’ll run into someone helpful if I write an SOS message on the toilet paper and then toss you out of the window after I attach it to your collar?”

He raises an eyebrow when Tiffany mewls in indignation.

“Why can’t Freddie be obsessed with retrievers or the dogs with the rum kegs around their neck?”

Clearly, Tiffany thinks it’s because cats are superior if her huffy fluff is anything to go by. Roger bangs his head against the wall and tries to think about his options.

His phone he dropped in the toilet not even ten minutes ago and now it flickers worriedly. John is going to throttle him because it’s the fourth phone in eight months. Apparently “technology needs more respect than a blond-haired terror.” _Well, technology needs to be more helpful,_ Roger snorts back.

Tiffany looks at him worriedly.

“Well, the good news is Freddie is going to come looking for you before he looks for me,” Roger sighs, “worst time to get into an argument with him.”

He should have listened to Brian and stopped while he was ahead. Roger _loves_ Freddie’s new song and it could be _so spectacular_ if he only sped it up. Brian even agreed that a slightly faster tempo might be in order and _then_ Freddie had agreed with him. Roger should have left it at that and not complained that Freddie only listens to Brian when it comes to songs.

He tosses the knob and it clatters noisily against the tub. Tiffany jumps down from her new toilet perch to paw at it. Roger stands back up and pokes at the hole where the knob used to be. _No use._ He is stuck until someone finds him.

Roger looks over to the bathroom window… maybe. When he was younger before he had the urge to settle down, he did his fair share of climbing to his partner’s bedroom window. Granted, they had garden trellises and pipes that were easy to climb, and he didn’t fear the parents' wrath at ruining their gardens.

He fears Jim. Even John was suitably shamed the time they overwatered _every_ plant in the mansion. How were they supposed to know that you can drown a plant?

Tiffany leaps back up to the counter. Clearly, she is annoyed at being stuck in here, and Roger hopes it is in general, rather than because of him. He steps into the tub, sliding as he steps into the basin. Roger grabs the shower curtain to balance himself and ends up pulling the entire rod from the wall and onto him.

His head hits the edge of the tub and the ceiling spins. Roger closes his eyes and grabs the back of his head. Part of him panics as he recalls every horror story, he heard about people dying in bathtubs after slipping. He wants to throw up and he manages to lean over enough that he can turn on the faucet for a few moments so that the sick is pulled down the drain.

Tiffany jumps onto him and purrs as she kneads his stomach and curls up. At least his dying body will keep her warm until they’re found.

Freddie is going to be pissed he traumatized one of his cats.

He must have dozed off (whoops, not ideal with a potential – nope that’s definitely a concussion he swears it is) when he hears someone knocking on the door.

“Why is this door locked?” Brian asks.

“How should I know? This is Roger’s bathroom,” John replies.

Roger perks up. He coughs which disturbs her highness, who flicks her ears in annoyance.

“I’m here!”

“We have a dinner in two hours,” John says.

“Rog? Are you okay? You sound a bit… off?”

He can picture the slight frown on Brian’s face, maybe he is even doing that cute little head tilt that he does.

“Just dying in the tub,” he calls back.

Ow. His head really hurts.

“Roggie?” Brian asks.

“The doorknob is busted,” he says.

It’s much easier blaming the knob than saying it was his fault because he slammed the door and then yanked it off.

“Busted?”

“As in, not on the door,” Roger calls back, “owwww.”

“What do you mean dying?” “Why is it not on the door?” Brian and John ask at the same time.

“I slipped and cracked my head on the tub and I didn’t ask.”

Or, that’s what he’s trying to say, it comes out as a garbled slurring mess, which probably doesn’t inspire any confidence in either John or Brian. The door starts to thud rhythmically, which conveniently is in time with the throbbing in his head.

“The door isn’t opening!” He hears Brian yell.

 _No shit,_ Roger thinks.

Tiffany meows.

“Brian, John,” _that’s Freddie!_

Roger perks up, he straightens himself and Tiffany lifts her head from her napping at the voice.

“Have you seen Roger or Tiffany? Roger and I had a spat, so I don’t imagine he is around, but it’s strange Tiffany isn’t around for dinner.”

“Roger is dying in your tub,” John says blandly.

 _Maybe I shouldn’t have led with that,_ Roger thinks, because there is a spark of nervousness in John’s voice. It might be because of the slurring too, now that he is thinking about it.

“Why?” Freddie asks.

Roger grins, “thought it would be fun.”

Of course, the only one to hear him is the cat, and she looks incredibly unimpressed with his joke.

“Critics,” Roger mumbles.

He closes his eyes again and strokes down Tiffany’s back at least once.

* * *

Roger is staring at not a bathroom ceiling, which is a nice change of pace from the past two hours but it looks like a hospital ceiling so he can’t exactly count that as a win. He turns his head to see Brian and John curled up in Jim’s lap.

He frowns until he notices how sweaty his palm feels. Roger looks over and sees that Freddie is half on his bed and half out of the chair.

“Mm,” he clears his throat.

Freddie shoots up, but he doesn’t hear anyone else stir.

“Roggie, you absolute ass.”

Roger grins.

“Dying in my bathroom, pathetic,” Freddie smiles, but his eyes are watery, “I would think you would want something with a little more glamour.”

“Just wanted you to think of me always, babe.”

Freddie rolls his eyes but hands him a cup of water. Roger looks at it when it doesn’t splash. _Ice chips,_ he thinks. He looks up at Freddie, trying to figure out what exactly is going on.

“You have a concussion,” Freddie answers, “a rather nasty bump on the back of your head.”

Roger lifts his hand, then the other one when he notices the IV in his right hand. He winces when he prods at it.

Freddie clicks his tongue, “don’t touch it, darling.”

“It hurts.”

He feels silly, he can’t imagine what they saw when they finally got the door open. Roger hopes that it was them at least, and not the paramedics. Scratch that, it would be easier for strangers to gossip about him passed out with a cat on his lap and fuzzy socks.

Freddie sits up and kisses him gently on the lips, “silly boy.”

Roger flushes, “I didn’t mean to…”

“Dearest,” Freddie says, “next time you throw a tantrum, go into a room without a doorknob.”

He feels his cheeks deepen with color.

“I would hate for our last words together to be ones of anger.”

“I’d hate for them to be so meaningless.”

Freddie hops up on the bed next to him and lifts his unimpeded hand to his lips.

“Roggie, I love you.”

Roger smiles, “I love you, too. And Brian and Deaky and Jim.”

This time he does hear stirring across the room. Roger watches Freddie’s eyes for a few moments longer.

“How bad is my head?” Roger whispers.

“You’ll be terrorizing us by tomorrow morning,” Freddie replies.

“So, we can write off me claiming I’m going to die in your bathtub?”

“Perhaps,” Freddie grins.

“So, no.”

“Certainly not,” Freddie says, “but you and Tiffany had such a lovely bonding moment.”

Roger groans.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, leave your thoughts and comments below, or come talk to me on tumblr!


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